


Pentimento No. 1

by nausicaa82



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art Museum, Alternate Universe - Canon (fantasy), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Pirate (fantasy), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse (fantasy), Artist Steve Rogers, Daydreaming, Getting Together, M/M, Modern Art, Oblivious Phil Coulson, Pining, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa82/pseuds/nausicaa82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson loved his job as an assistant director of the university's art museum, but didn't love Tuesdays when school children on field trips would visit. When a tall blond started visiting on Tuesdays, too, Phil changed his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pentimento No. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aftersoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftersoon/gifts).



> Taking the suggestions of: pining, misunderstandings, AUs of all flavors, fluff, character studies, apocalypse scenarios, and happy endings/open endings, I mixed them as I could. 
> 
> Nerdy note:  
> A pentimento (plural pentimenti) is an alteration in a painting, evidenced by traces of previous work, showing that the artist has changed his or her mind as to the composition during the process of painting.

Tuesdays had always been Phil’s least favorite day at work. The usually peaceful university museum would become overrun with children on field trips squealing at the mobiles, giggling at the nude statues, and always trying to touch every thing their sticky little fingers could reach. He was grateful that at least he had a crack team of docents to run the programs, give the tours, and most importantly keep the collections he had worked so hard to curate from being destroyed.

But then one October, a young man started coming in on Tuesdays, obviously unaware of the unspoken rule that the general public should stay away for their own sanity when the swarms of yellow buses filled the museum’s parking lot. And suddenly without warning, Tuesdays did not seem so bad anymore to Phil. He would watch from behind the Friends of the Museum newsletter as the tall, well-built, blond signed in at the front desk, said hello to Maria, and then ventured to sit in front of one of the modern pieces Phil had secured on loan from the Art Institute of Chicago.

Most people would just walk around the exhibit briskly, getting quick glances of the paintings and move on to the museum’s revered Impressionism collection or its beloved Charles Schultz exhibit. But the blond would plant in front of a piece and just look at it for about an hour then pull out his sketchbook and work for another two or three. Phil started watching him through the security feeds and admired how the guest looked as if he truly appreciated the art.

By the late afternoon on these Tuesdays, Natasha, Clint, Melinda, and Jasper would escort the children from the last part of their special tour-- the hands on activity room where they would create their own masterpieces to take home-- back to the buses, and the rest of the day would be absolutely dead. The exception now was Phil’s new interest and his sketchbook.

“He must be a student,” Phil muttered to himself the first time he saw him as he almost touched the screen where the man was. He caught his hand in time and immediately started to busy himself with reports and gate count stats for the week, but his eyes kept drifting back over to the young man’s majestic profile.

\--

On the third Tuesday afternoon of watching the blond absentmindedly stick his pencil in his mouth and run it around his lips as he worked, it finally occurred to Phil to look at the guest book to figure out what to call him. Among the disjointed scribbles of children names, there was one proper adult signature that looked somewhat familiar to Phil-- Steve Rogers.

\--

By the sixth Tuesday of Steve coming to the museum, Phil had a whole routine set up to get his reports finished early so he could spend the last few hours watching Steve as he drew. In Phil’s mind it was almost like a date the two of them had, and with a blush Phil started imagining what it would be like to be a part of Steve’s world.

That day, Steve was studying Arthur Dove’s [_Silver Sun_ ,](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/65868) and Phil daydreamed of the two of them fighting together in a post-apocalyptic world. Perhaps vampires or nuclear zombies roamed the land, but they were safe together. Steve would have his strength and charm to get them to the safe areas of the desolate west. Phil would have his cunning and resourcefulness to give them the advantage when they were attacked by the creatures or malicious bands of survivors. Phil would inevitably get hurt trying to protect Steve, and the young blond would carry him away from the danger of the environment, the corrupted sun beating down on them. Then he would tend to Phil, healing him both body and soul. Steve would keep his hand over the bandaged wound, maybe on Phil’s torso or chest, and they would look into each others’ blue eyes and then--

“The website is down again!” the intern Skye shrieked and interrupted his thoughts with an actual end of the world situation. Phil quickly went with her to the server room to troubleshoot the problem as they were under directive to not have the museum’s webpage down for any longer than two hours. With luck and a reboot, the page was back up before the administrators’ arbitrary deadline, but Steve was gone for the day when Phil returned to his office.

\--

The next week, Steve was looking at the [_Port en Normandie_](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/109330) by George Braque. As it was getting closer to the holidays, less field trips were being scheduled, and Phil rather enjoyed the relative peace that came from having only three classes being herded around. He watched Steve draw the boat over and over in his sketchbook, or at least that is what he thought as he couldn’t actually see the book from the camera angle. Phil hadn’t been out on a boat for years and wondered if Steve enjoyed sailing. He certainly looked able-bodied enough hoist a sail, but perhaps he would be better as the captain, managing the crew and giving orders in a deep booming voice. Just as Phil started to imagine Steve in an 18th century uniform commanding a howling group of pirates, the phone rang. His best friend and expert art dealer was absolutely desperate.

“We need to go over some details for the fundraising gala, Phil” Pepper scolded. “You know Mr. Stark gets very busy in the spring, and we need to firm up a date so he’ll be there and the museum will get the guaranteed press coverage.” Phil sighed as the two of them went over all the small details he would usually love picking apart, but the thought of attending another event like this one alone weighed on his heart. If only he had someone like Steve to take with him.

\--

By the following week, Phil knew that what he was doing was certainly odd if not downright creepy. He was having the most elaborate fantasies about one of his patrons, but was absolutely unable to speak with the man. Steve had said hello and smiled at Phil when he signed in at the front desk that Tuesday. Phil only made some unintelligible sound back at him then ran off to his office while Maria and Clint gave each other puzzled looks. Wishing he could have demonstrated his wit or intelligence or some sort of value to Steve, Phil daydreamed as Steve set about his routine, this time in front of Stuart Davis’s _[Ready To Wear](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/2189)._

Phil thought back to his beloved textile design classes as an undergrad. Focusing on the back of Steve’s head right in front of the the bold colors of the work, Phil imagined creating an outfit for Steve of red and blue and white. The contrast it would make when pressed against Phil’s ever black suit would be divine. Steve usually wore plain t-shirts, a leather jacket, and jeans whenever Phil saw him, but the suit Phil had in his mind would be tighter, almost like a second skin. His own arousal at the thought urged Phil up and out of the office to take a few laps around the museum’s reflection pond outside without his coat to cool off.

\--

Phil was positive that it had been one of the children, or possibly a confederacy of them, who had infected him with one of the worst colds ever on that day, not the walk in freezing temperatures. Phil’s throat started tickling before the weekend, and by Monday it was a full rage. So, despite his best protesting, the director forbade him from coming in and he had to miss work that Tuesday. When he finally could go back the following Thursday, Clint gave him an unexpected update.

“It was for the best, you would have died.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your guy, the one you’re obsessing over was looking particularly nice this week.” Phil’s cheeks reddened a bit, but he would later claim it was just a carryover of his illness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You always knows what I’m talking about. Anyway, he was wearing delightfully tight jeans and has moved on to our permanent collection, spent hours staring at the Duchamp. Perhaps you should volunteer to be the model for his own version?” Clint’s smirk was really too much. Phil threw the stuffed Michelangelo doll from his desk at the docent’s head, and it smacked him right on the cheek. “Hey! It’s getting to the point it would be better for everyone if you would just ask him out already.”

“Get out,” Phil playfully commanded. Clint followed the order, but popped his head back in the doorway for a little clarification.

“Help a guy out and do it before Christmas break, got fifty bucks riding on the office pool,” Clint said, then ducked when the plush DaVinci flew towards him. At his desk, Phil did not allow himself to think too much of Steve studying [_Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2)_](http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/51449.html) or Clint’s suggestion that Phil would model for Steve. However, later that night as Phil was restless in his bed, his mind did go over the possibilities.

\--

The last Tuesday before Christmas, Phil was glad it was also the last day the museum would be open until the new year. The schools were out and it seemed the whole world had better things to do than visit the museum, so most of the other workers had taken the day off. Phil was alone in the building except for Kevin, the one security guard playing _Galaga_ on his phone by the front door. Right on time, Steve entered the museum just like always did, but stopped when Phil was at the desk instead of Maria.

“Oh, it’s you,” the blond sighed with a delighted smile on his face, and Phil had no idea how to take that comment so he just stuck out his hand.

“I’m Phil Coulson.” A quick flash of recognition crossed Steve’s face and his grin was even wider.

“Steve Rogers; it’s very nice to meet you.” And perhaps it was the weeks of fantasies coming to a head or the dodgy eggnog Phil had tasted from the break room refrigerator before throwing it out at lunch, but he then opened his mouth and said the dumbest thing he ever had in his entire life.

“It’s great to meet you, officially. I watched you while you were drawing.” Steve’s smile immediately dropped, but Phil just kept going. “I mean, I was present here, in the museum, when you were doing your sketches. I wasn’t like following you home and staring into your window or anything.” Phil forced a laugh to try to cover the awkwardness of his confession. Unable to look at Steve’s face as his own was starting to burn, he kept his eyes on his wristwatch. “Oh, look at that: I have an important meeting over in the um… other… room. Sorry, have to go.” Phil raced to the staff restroom, locking the door behind him and then banging his head against the tile wall.

After five minutes, Phil realized he couldn’t spend the rest of the day there, so he splashed some water on his face and steeled himself to return to the desk. He saw on the monitor that Steve had sat down on the bench across from Phil’s favorite piece from the permanent collection. No other patrons came in that afternoon, and when it was ten minutes until the museum was set to close, Steve was still there in front of the same piece just looking at it. He hadn’t taken his sketchbook from his leather messenger bag, nor moved in hours. Phil took a deep breath and went to let Steve know the museum was closing face to face rather than use the PA system.

\--

 _Pentimento No. 1_ by Roger Grant had been Phil’s first acquisition when he joined the museum. He had seen it at a student art show there at the university a few years earlier and was so struck by it, he fought tooth and nail for it to become a part of the museum's collection. At first glance, the canvas was completely blank but when you looked closer, you could see the most detailed cityscape just under the white wash. It was both classic and modern, simple and extremely complex. It rewarded patience and perseverance by its audience and was a risky gamble by the artist.

But, the gamble had paid off as Grant had left the university the following semester when he became the new hot thing in the New York art scene with his signature style. His paintings now went for twenty times what Phil had secured the work for, and the get had earned Phil a quick promotion for his judgement.

The only thing holding the artist back from even more success was his own reclusive nature. He sold his works through his manager even as a student, never went to openings, and it was unclear if Roger Grant was even his real name. For Phil, it was a real shame as his ideas were so bold and his pieces so brave, he was such an inspiration and deserved all the fame and glory.

Phil’s step faltered a bit at seeing the piece being admired by his crush, two of his favorite things to look at together, lovelier in person than through the security feed. He swallowed and then tried to use his most calm voice.

“Steve, the museum will be closing in just a few min--” the words died in his throat as he saw a tear fall down Steve’s cheek. Phil joined him on the bench and they sat, both just looking at the painting in silence.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… this reminds me of a different time in my life,” Steve softly said after a few long minutes.

“It’s ok. It’s a wonderful piece; great art like this is supposed to evoke strong emotions.”

“You think it’s great art?”

“It’s my favorite piece we have,” Phil answered and looked over to Steve who had turned his attention to Phil instead of the painting.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“Why would I just say that?” Phil asked, and Steve didn’t reply, his face turning red this time.

“Phil," Kevin announced over the PA, causing both men to jump. "I’ve gotta lock up and get outta here. Still need to buy my Ma a present.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, reaching for his bag.

“Sorry, I kept you here late when I’m sure you have people to see,” he apologized.

“Actually,” Phil stood up and offered his hand to help the other up. This was the moment, it couldn’t be any more awkward and embarrassing than earlier and if by some chance it was, Phil would have all break to find a new job on the other side of the world. “Would you like to go get some coffee? Talk a bit more about art and the classes you’re in?” Steve smiled like he had when he had first seen Phil that day and took his hand.

“That sounds great, but we’ll have to talk more about art; I’m not in school anymore.”

“Oh, is that so?” Phil replied as the two of them left the museum. 


End file.
